I am thankful for rain laden roads which glimmer in the black dawn, leading me around the gentle bend in the river to work.

I am thankful for those same roads carrying me back through small towns and under a cold sky which hangs over caramel fields; home to the one I love…

We are here…and you are not; I watch all the rose and caramel dappled skies drifting lovely above the road winding to the city…and feel the glory of late October winds.

I’m looking for something else; something solid like the grasp of your hand and the black, bristled shoe brush and the whisked sound of you polishing my Sunday shoes; swish swish…back and forth…

I want my Mary Janes back. I want that time back. I’ll take October’s glory instead, only because I must.

Smokey orange-tangerine and cream shimmery candles…the oven is exercised and heated with cranberry, pumpkin and strong chocolate. Friends are coming.

There is hot butter-cream coffee and I am already headed home in my heart; down that rain soaked highway, leaf strewn toward the cove where I am most vested, most truly myself…forever safe…

Driving home through blessed and abundant fields of pink caramel corn stalks…brilliant copper red leaves fading in a snowy grey sky…through the magical orange corridor which is this quiet road; the maples are decked out in one hundred shades of amber and lush yellows, just waiting…hanging on for the first strong October gust which will send them all sailing on a thousand separate journeys.

J.S. Bach is on the radio…for all things beautiful remain forever…woven carefully into the DNA of the universe…friendship, family, the creation…the baby in the back of the car learning to speak the strange language that humans speak…only a brief photograph of all that is yet to come…

One of the finer points of balance in life is the ability to get many things done and done well, while at the same time having the energy and space to reflect deeply on what is being accomplished.

This leads one to a ‘theology of the kitchen’…the deeper meaning of laundry…the importance of placing carefully all the indoor plants in the right windows for maximum sunshine during the winter months…and the joy of listening to the last mowing sounds of the season…blessing the neighbor who keeps his lawn perfectly coiffed in a brilliant green checker board pattern.

These are small snippets of the world beyond this one. All are meaningful…

He gives me a great big hug, this chubby enthusiastic third grader. ‘Hey!’ he steps back and points at my sweater. ‘Did you get that from Marsha?’ I respond. ‘Marsha? Who is Marsha?’

‘You know…Marsha!’ He looks at me long and hard. ‘You smell like Marsha’. I think about this for a minute. ‘Marsha. Do you mean Marshalls…the store Marshalls?’ He continues to look at me. ‘Yes. Marsha. Did you go to Marsha’s?’

I respond. ‘Actually I got this sweater at Amazon’. ‘Huh’ he grunts. ‘Well, you smell like Marsha!’.

It’s a circular firing squad, this afternoon…

On this humid August day, the earth on a whim, draws her bath and the steam rises to the tops of buildings. The tub is full as meadows flood and the leaves await a new season’s future.

The air is grey cotton. The lush, black Turkish towels are trees bending strong and wet amid the flash of the earth’s mawkish and toothy grin…

‘Hey! Hey what? Eagles fans?’ There is motion and commotion and the man at one end of the bar grabs his wife and sidles down to the other end of the bar to meet…community. Two groups of people have found each other…lost in the gorgeous state of Maine…one from Toledo, Ohio…the other from…indecipherable. But they love, love the Eagles and the back thumping and high hand slapping proves it and adds to the general happy noise.

The big, overly muscled one with the beard, the one doing most of the yelling has done his level best to fit in…to be local. He wears a handsomely cut white linen shirt with fish…everywhere…woven into the fine fibers.

He’s about as ‘Maine’ as I am. Neither one of us has fished off a boat at 4am, neither gutted a fish…neither won out over the ravages of a real Nor’easter. We’re here for the fantastic seafood.

But we have all found the smallest of villages…here at the ocean’s edge…and these two groups up at the bar are seated tightly together at Boone’s, the bustling hustling corner where we are suddenly all from the gorgeous state of Maine…when it suits us…in August…before life summons us again to soldier on…

September grasses have faded. October remains inconclusive…one day warm, one day chilly as evening lights fade more quickly…bright orange, twilight orange, burnt ember orange…firelight and quiet.

The October road traveled is lighter, brighter and calmer since meeting you, my dear.

Carry on steadily in this well worn pattern of love, life and laughter…October gloaming…

I am thankful I grew up in a home where learning to read was as effortless as falling into a pile of leaves or diving into the deep end of the pool.

I wish the same experience for my students…